


there'll be a different role to fill

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band), Supernatural
Genre: Extreme AU, M/M, One Direction/Supernatural Crossover, Out of Character, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3561326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, Christ. This is going to sound crazier than hell, but I'm Louis and I think our lives were switched around a bit."</p><p>or where Harry and Louis switch lives with Dean and Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there'll be a different role to fill

**Author's Note:**

> A goddamn shame, that's what this is. 
> 
> Extremely OOC characters, profanity, and the murder of a Supernatural monster. 
> 
> Title from Greek Tragedy by The Wombats.
> 
> Season six of Supernatual spoilers.

It starts on a cool September morning. 

The sun's just risen above the skyline, turning the entire sky a beautiful grey and orange mashup. 

Louis sits perched on a balcony in a hotel in Bristol, hanging against the railing with his legs dangling, cigarette burning in between his fingers, Harry at his side. 

He's not sure what heaven's like, but this might as well be it.  
"What do you think would happen if we weren't famous? If we were other people?" Harry asks.   
"I don't know." Is all Louis says.

It's not like Harry hasn't asked before, because he has. Several times. 

It's that Louis doesn't have an answer. 

If they weren't famous, how would they have even met? Louis would've never left Doncaster. Harry probably would've stuck around Holmes Chapel. There would be little to no chance of them ever meeting.

So maybe Louis does have answer, but it's not a good one.   
"I think we'd probably have met...somehow. We'd have bumped into each other at a Starbucks or a music store and I'd have blushed when you hit on me and accidentally spilled my drink or knocked over a CD case. I'd have muttered, "Oops!" and you'd have just grinned and said, "Hi."" Harry leans his head against the cool metal railing, just watching.   
"Probably." Louis scoffs. "You're a bit of a klutz."   
"Hey." Harry pouts, laughing. "But seriously. What's your fantasy?"   
"Well, you in lace--"   
"No," Harry rolls his eyes, grinning. "Not that kind, you git. Your _'if we weren't famous'_ fantasy." 

Louis pauses, scrambling to come up with one because he doesn't goddamn  _have_  one.

Damn the pessimist inside of him, honestly.   
"I don't have one." Louis says because he can't stand the look on Harry's face. The hope, the yearning. 

They'd never not be famous. There's no point in hoping for something impossible.   
"Oh," Harry frowns, looking away. 

Louis gnaws on his bottom lip and then takes a drag of his cigarette. It's nearly burned out, so he smashes it into the concrete next to his thigh.   
"There's no use in hoping for something that will never be." Louis whispers, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it. 

He takes a long puff of it, staring off into the rising sun. 

He blows out the smoke when he closes his eyes, the sun-shaped circle glowing  _bluegreenpurple_  under his eyelids.

He wishes he could, just once, hope for something. 

-

Dean stares at the alcohol in his glass, eyes heavy. 

He's been up for a while. Several hours at least, but the sun's just begun to rise. 

He sips at the bitter liquid, nodding at the bartender to refill it. 

Dean can't believe he let Sam go on a hunt all by himself. 

It's only a Rakshasa, but Dean still should've gone with him. To back him up in case anything went wrong. 

He's an idiot. 

He accepts that.

The bartender fills up his glass, nodding when Dean thanks him.   
"Dean." 

Dean turns, seeing Cas standing there, trench-coat loose around his shoulders.   
"Cas." He says, turning back. 

He feels the soft flutter of Cas' coat against his shoulder before he sits.   
"Something's wrong." Is all Cas says, staring at Dean.   
"What, Cas? What's wrong?" Dean sips at his whiskey, turning it in his hands. "The fact that I let Sam go hunt a goddamn Rakshasa all by himself? What if he gets _hurt_?"   
"He's fine." Cas soothes. "He called me, actually, and said to check up on  _you_." 

Dean huffs, knocking back the rest of his glass.

Check on him his ass.

Sam just doesn't want Dean coming to his rescue.

Dean stands, pulling on his jacket to escape the cold, Minnesota air and walks toward the door. He turns, cracking the smallest of smiles at Cas still sitting in the same spot.   
"You coming, or what?"   
"Oh, yes." Cas smiles, following Dean out and to the Impala. 

Dean sits down in the driver's seat and sighs as Cas climbs in.   
"Do you ever think about how different things could've gone if Yellow Eyes hadn't chosen Sammy?" Dean whispers, turning the car on and driving toward the fading moonlight. 

It's a rhetorical question, one that doesn't require an answer, but Cas answers anyway.   
"If he hadn't been chosen, then everything would be different, Dean."   
"I know." Dean whispers. "I wouldn't be a hunter, mom would still be alive."   
"I'd be in heaven." Cas whispers and he sounds crestfallen--heart-broken. 

Dean side-glances at him, frowning.   
"Do you want to be there?" He asks, turning the Impala into the woods.   
"I don't know anymore." Cas admits. "I love my brothers and sisters...but some of them are just so..."   
"Stuck up? Posh?" Dean supplies, parking the car so it faces the rising sun.   
"Well, yes, but also boring. They do what they're told and don't ask questions."   
"You used to do that too." Dean says, voice wispy with remembrance.   
"But you helped me." Cas turns toward Dean.   
"I did." Dean says and then chuckles, shaking his head. "God, you were so pretentious when I first met you."  
"Maybe a bit." Cas says, looking out at the sun again. 

Dean's never been a morning person, but this--he could get used to this. Sitting in his baby with Cas, crappy Taylor Swift playing lowly in the background, stomach warm with whiskey and the burger he had for dinner.   
" _'I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.'_ " Dean imitates, mocking. 

He grins, chuckling a bit to satisfy himself.  
"Dean, about what I said earlier--"   
" _'Something's wrong.'_ " Dean drops his voice again, laughing hard. 

He hasn't laughed this hard in a long, long time.   
"Seriously. I sense...strange geological interferences."   
"And that means?"   
"Something's going to happen. I thought it was that bar...but it seems that it's followed us." Cas frowns.   
"It's whatever, Cas. Probably just a storm or something. We _are_ in Minnesota."  
"Your soul looks strange."

Dean's soul probably just full of alcohol, self-loathing, one-hundred-thousand ways to kill monsters, and excuses. 

That's all Cas' seeing.  
"Dean..." Cas starts but Dean shakes his head, leaning back against the seat to watch the grey sky turn cool-smooth blue. 

-

Louis rubs at his eyes, the sunlight blinding. He squints against it, hands on the wheel in front of him. 

Where is he? 

How'd he get in a car? 

He glances over and is relieved to see Harry laying next to him, sleeping. He's wearing a beige trench-coat with a suit underneath and looks older. Several years, definitely. 

Jesus Christ, what's going on? 

Louis shakes Harry's shoulder, nervous.   
"H? Wake up." 

Harry groans, rubbing at his eyes with a sigh.   
"Leave me be." He mumbles.   
"Wake up!" Louis shouts. 

He's begun to freak out, it seems.   
"Jeez, Lou. Chill." Harry frowns, sleepy-looking and cuddly.   
"How the bloody hell did we get in a car?" Louis snaps.   
"An American car. Chevy, if I'm correct. An Impala." Harry muses, running his hand across the seat.   
"How did we get here?!"   
"Relax, love." Harry pats Louis' thigh. "You look hot as fuck in that. Older."   
"In what?" 

Louis looks down at his clothes and grins. 

So the homely hunter-esque look turns Harry on. Who'd have thought?  
"Yeah?" Louis quirks an eyebrow, smirking.   
"Yeah." Harry winks. "Let's look for a phone, pretty boy. We've got to find out who put us here." 

Louis pats his pockets down, finding an old Blackberry in the inner pocket of his jacket. He holds it up with a triumphant grin.   
"Call Liam. He'll be the one to believe us." Harry adds. 

Louis dials Liam's number and waits.   
"Hello?" Liam asks and Louis sighs in relief.   
"Liam, it's me--Louis."  
"Who?"   
"Louis." When Liam doesn't respond, Louis cries out, "Tomlinson!"   
"Oh." Louis can hear the frown in Liam's voice.   
"Listen, I don't know what kind of sick fucking joke you guys are playing, but this isn't cool. Leaving us in the middle of nowhere? You think that was  _wise_?" Louis scoffs. "And changing our clothes? For Christ's sake..."   
"Listen," Zayn's voice pours through the phone, "I don't know who you are, but you need to leave Liam alone. We've got a concert in half an hour and we're down two band-mates."   
"Who?" Louis asks, swallowing hard. 

What has happened over a few hours?!  
"Dean and Cas." 

What the hell?   
"Can I speak with Dean?" Louis asks, sighing hard.   
"I told you--he's down for the count. Sick or something. So's Cas." Zayn's eye roll is practically audible. "Bye." 

The line goes dead and Louis sags against the seat.   
"What'd he say? And who's Dean?"   
"I don't know what's going on, Harry. He said...they were down two band members, but their names weren't Harry and Louis. That they were Dean and Cas."   
"Oh my God." Harry gasps, hands covering his mouth. "What's going on?!"   
"I have no idea--" The phone buzzes in Louis' hand.

He fumbles with it a moment before answering, not glancing at the name across the screen.   
"Zayn? Liam? Niall? Hello?" Louis calls in.   
"Um, no." Says a masculine American voice. "It's me--Sam." 

Sam? Who the hell is Sam?  
"Oh," Louis says, scrambling, "yeah, hey."   
"Are you okay? I sent Cas to check in on you, but I didn't hear back from him," The man called Sam coughs, "killed the Rakshasa pretty easily. Another hunter was on it already, so we collabed." 

Rakshasa? 

Louis' eyes widen as he remembers what one is, and he takes in a sharp breath. 

 _Killed_.   
"Can I meet you somewhere, Sam?" Louis turns the key in the ignition, sparing Harry a worried glance.   
"Yeah. I'm in St. Paul. Annie's Inn." The line spikes with white noise.   
"Okay. See you then." Louis hangs up, muttering, " _fucking psychopath,_ " under his breath. "Guess we're going to St. Paul to figure this out."   
"Who's Sam?" Harry asks, small.   
"I don't know. But he knew Cas." 

Louis backs out and begins to drive, following the signs to St. Paul, Minnesota.   
"There's no way they're screwing with us, H. How would they have gotten us here in less than eight hours?"   
"They didn't." Harry says, small. "There's no way." 

Louis rationally knows that something like this is impossible, but there they are, in a goddamned Chevrolet Impala in Minnesota, on their way to see Sam. 

-

Dean rolls over in bed, burying his face in the sheets. 

They smell like soap and laundry detergent, like his house and his mother. 

He sits up, eyes wide. 

Something's way wrong.

He's wearing hideous clothes, a loose shirt advertising some kid band and black socks pulled up high. Cas is in the bed beside him, drooling on the pillow.   
"Cas," Dean touches his shoulder, delicate, "wake up."   
"Mmph." Cas murmurs, sitting up next to Dean. "What's going on?" 

Cas is wearing nothing but underwear, the sheets showing the dark blue boxers. He looks young, barely an adult, adorably ruffled.   
"Oh, God." Dean mutters. 

What has happened? 

Dean wasn't so drunk as to fuck someone and forget about it. Especially Castiel, a goddamned Angel of the Lord.   
"Dean! Cas!" A short, blond-boy walks into the room. 

He's young, barely a baby. 

What has Dean done to get involved with these little kids? He's a grown adult for fuck's sake.  
"Get up, bros." He says, grinning wickedly.   
"Who the hell are you?" Dean asks, accusing.   
"Are you high?!" The boy laughs. "Zayn, you'll never believe this! Dean can't remember my name! After five years, you'd think you'd remember, mate."

The boy walks toward him, punching him on the arm hard. 

Dean would've hit him back if the punch had actually hurt.   
"Niall. I'm Niall." He says, slowly. 

Dean rolls his eyes.   
"Where are we?" He asks, glancing around. 

It's a clean hotel, spotless minus the clothes scattered across the floor.   
"Bristol, mate."

Bristol? As in _England_? 

How had they gone from Minnesota to England in four hours? It's a nineteen hour trip by  _plane_.   
"How did we get here?" Cas asks, quizzical look on his face.

Dean's flushed with fond emotions at the look and is shocked by them.

Fond? Dean doesn't do fond.  
"A plane." Niall smiles, a stupid patronizing sort of grin.   
"God, you're impossible." Dean shakes his head.   
"I know. Now get dressed, you twats. We've only got a few hours until the concert." 

Dean does  _not_  sing.   
"I don't sing." Cas and Dean say at the same time.  
"Yes, you do. Lots of great songs. Now get your asses up."   
"Oh, God." Dean says, aghast. "Am I in a goddamn boy-band?"  
"Oh, for the love of...Get up!" Niall shouts, gesturing wildly.  
"No." Dean says defiantly. 

The only one who gets to push him around is his father and he's dead, so.   
"Fine." Niall hisses. "They won't get up!" He yells. 

Dean crosses his arms across his chest, glancing down at name on the shirt. 

He'd never in a million years own something labeled with an expensive name, so what is he doing wearing one? Especially one with flamingos on it?!

Two boys open the door and Dean tugs the duvet over Cas' shoulders, hiding his bare skin.  
"Come on, Dean. You love singing. Why are you refusing to get up?" A boy with brown hair and a kind face asks. 

Dean remembers him as Liam  
"I don't feel well." Dean lies, biting back a sinister grin. 

These little twerps don't know what's hit them. 

Dean's an excellent liar.   
"It's not our fault you were up all night smoking." Niall snaps.   
"I'm going to vomit." Cas says and he looks pale.   
"Okay, okay." The other boy, Zayn, says, hands raised. "Stay in bed. Christ."   
"Sorry." Cas shrugs.   
"Get some more sleep. Maybe you're just hungover." Kind-faced Liam smiles, ushering the other two out of the room. 

Dean collapses back onto the bed, sighing so loud that he feels it shake his chest.  
"Cas, what's going on?"   
"I-I don't know." Cas admits. "I can't...My grace...I'm human."  
"Really?" Dean frowns. "Who'd have done this?"   
"No angel I know of." He shakes his head.   
"I'm gonna call Sam." 

Dean stretches across the bed to grab a phone off the dresser. 

It's sleek and unfamiliar. Dean frowns at it, opening it with his thumbprint (again, what the hell?) and dialing Sam's number.   
"Hello?"   
"Sam, hey, it's me. Dean. I'm in Bristol, England with Cas who's apparently human. It seems that something just plucked us outta Minnesota and right into the lives of popular teenage Beibers."  
"Who're you? I don't know anyone named Dean or Cas."   
"Oh, fuck." Dean swears, hanging up the phone quickly. "Something's definitely wrong, Cas."

He rubs his face hard and stands, walking over toward the mirror. He stands in front of it, surprised at the youth in his features. 

He looks young, barely twenty-four. 

Whatever's happened, Dean hopes he can stay this young.   
"I look so young--" He marvels, touching the skin of his face.   
"Do I?" Cas asks, climbing out of the bed to stand next to Dean. 

He glances at himself, grinning.   
"It seems as though we've both lost a few years."   
"A few years?" Dean grins. "I look like a newborn baby!"   
"Technically speaking, you look like a twenty-four year old Dean Winchester." Castiel muses.   
"Enjoy it, Cas." Dean shakes his head. "Wait! I can call  _my_  phone!" 

Dean rushes to grab the phone, unlocking it and dialing in his own number. 

It rings several times before someone picks up.   
"Hello?" Dean calls.   
"Who's this? Sam?"   
"No, Sam's my brother." Dean frowns. "I'm Dean."   
"Oh, Christ. This is going to sound crazier than hell, but I'm Louis. I think our lives were switched around a bit." 

-

Louis can't believe this is happening to them. 

All four of them--an angel of the Lord, supposedly, a Dean Winchester, and two world famous pop-stars--are planning to meet Sam, some strange man, in St. Paul. 

It's fucking insane!

By the time Louis and Harry reach Sam's hotel, the sun's fallen again. 

Louis parks the car, tucking the keys to the Impala into his pocket for safe keeping.   
"Which room? Harry asks, frowning.  
"Ground floor, corner room, nearest to the fire escape." Louis says, thoughtless. 

Where had that come from?   
"How do you--"   
"I guess I got some of Dean's mind." Louis shrugs. "Good thing, too." 

Louis leads Harry to the corner room, hands entangled between them, swinging as they walk. He knocks on the corner room and the door is opened. 

A tall man stands with long brown hair.   
"Sam?" Louis asks, warily.   
"Lou." The man grins.

He turns and walks inside. Louis follows behind him carefully, aware of the weapons on the table. 

He recognizes them and their uses. Salt for demons and ghosts, long blades for decapitating vampires, brass blades for Rakshasa, holy water and silver knives.   
"Harry." Sam nods. "So, guys, what's going on?"   
"I'm not your Louis." Louis blurts out. "In fact, your Louis is my friends' Dean. Same with your Harry."   
"Okay, okay." Sam holds up his hand. "Wait a second. What?"   
"I'm not your...whatever." Louis says, slowly, softly. "I belong in Bristol with my mates. I'm a world famous singer slash songwriter."  
"Ha," Sam rolls his eyes, dry, "funny."   
"I'm not kidding. I used to sing songs like Stockholm Syndrome and-and Fireproof." Louis feels sort of like he's going to cry and sort of like he's going to punch Sam in the face.

It's confusing.  
"I don't belong here and neither does Harry."  
"How'd you know which room to go to, then?" Sam raises an eyebrow.   
"I have his knowledge, your Dean. Of shifters and vamps and skin-walkers."   
"Ah, crap." Sam says, wide-eyed. 

Louis tugs Harry close, hands tight in each others. Sam looks at them bemused.   
"Knew it." He muses, walking toward the couch to his laptop. "I'll check it out, okay?"   
"Okay." Louis smiles. "Thanks." 

-

"So, you're my brother?" Sam asks, frowning. 

It's been two days since Dean had called Louis. Dean and Cas had spent hours in three different airplanes, just to get their asses to Minnesota. 

Their faces are on the news ( _"Missing! Dean Tomlinson and Castiel Styles were last seen on September eighteenth at four thirty pm, two hours before their concert in Bristol. Their fellow bandmembers say the two were ill and then vanished. Authorities have no leads."_ ) and everyone, it seems, is looking for them. 

Dean smiles, nods.   
"Yeah. And Cas, right here, is an angel of the Lord."  
"No," Sam says, "Harry, here, is the angel. I'd bet he's seeing our souls and that's why he hasn't said a word since you arrived." 

Everyone turns to Harry who frowns.   
"It's...You all look so...It's...quite strange." He stammers.   
"Holy crap." Dean mutters, shaking his head. 

He glances over at Cas in his tight black jeans and t-shirt and almost smiles. 

He's so young and so innocent looking. Dean can't imagine him doing any of the things he's done. 

This little, skinny-legged human once swallowed all of the Leviathan in Purgatory, once smote an entire diner of Jefferson Starships. 

It seems impossible.   
"What could've done this?" Sam turns to Harry, shaking his head. "There's no lore on anything like this."   
"You ask me like I'd know." Harry admonishes. "I was human until yesterday!"   
"Yes, but Louis got some of Dean's memory, so I figured you'd have gotten some of Cas'."   
"Why didn't you just ask him then?"   
"I don't know. I'm just used to asking you, I guess." Sam shrugs. "Any ideas? Anyone?" 

Dean gnaws on his lip, checking through the list of monsters in his mind.   
"Maybe a trickster?" Harry supplies. 

Dean thinks that could possibly be it. 

Or maybe it's another damned angel.   
"But it might also be an angel." Cas adds. "Gabriel disguised as a trickster while both killing Dean--er, Louis--hundreds of times," Dean sees Sam cringe out of the corner of his eye, "and forcing Louis and Sam to live through television shows of all kinds."   
"This is crazy." Louis shakes his head. 

Dean remembers those. He remembers Gabriel and trapping him. It was him, not this Louis character.

This is about the craziest thing that's ever happened to him.   
"I know." Harry says from beside him, squeezing his hand.   
"Are you two..." Dean starts, eyeing them. "like together?"   
"Well, yeah, a bit." Louis scoffs. "You two are too."   
"What?" Dean asks, but there's no force behind his voice. 

Really?  
"You woke up in bed together, did you not?" Louis smiles.   
"We did." Cas muses.   
"And the boys...did they act surprised at all?"   
"No." Dean says, glancing at everyone in the room. "They acted like it was normal--average. Like they'd seen us in bed together a lot."   
"Because they have, Dean." Cas says. "I...sort of remember it." 

Dean thinks back and it's like that with him. Like he's re-remembering events that he'd lost over time. 

Who'd have thought?  
"Damn," Sam murmurs softly, grinning.   
"Shut up. You don't even remember who I am." Dean growls, but it's friendly.

When did he get so soft?

Probably around the time he started boning Cas.   
"So what do we do?" Louis asks, shrugging off his--Dean's--coat.   
"We find the son of a bitch and we kill it." Dean says, face placid. 

 -

Louis is both totally sure and totally unsure about what's going on. 

He knows what everyone's talking about, can remember it, but can't figure out why they're all just sitting around.   
"Is anyone actually going to do something?" He asks, huffing.  
"You guys are the lead roles in this movie, we're just the supporting actors." Dean says, looking unimpressed. 

Louis rolls his eyes because goddamn it, this asshole is impossible.   
"Thanks." He sighs, sarcastic. "I'm so glad you came all this way for nothing."   
"Ooh." Dean mocks. "Bieber's got bite. Let's just hope you don't bite _it_."   
"Okay, you know what?" Harry snaps before Louis can bark out a retort. "Why don't you all shut the hell up? Yes, we're stuck in an alternate universe as each other, but we have to get over that and work together. We," he points to himself and Louis, "are not the only main characters! You two are too! This isn't a war, it's an alliance. Now get your shit together!" 

Everyone sits silent for a moment, embarrassed.   
"Sorry," Louis chokes out first because Harry's looking at him like he'd murdered the child Anti-Christ without provocation.   
"Yeah." Dean says, avoiding Louis' eyes. "Me too."   
"Now let's just summon the bloody thing." Harry says simply. 

Louis scoffs at their stupidity. 

Why hadn't they thought of that?  
"That's unwise," Cas states. "unless you put up sigils and traps."   
"And holy oil." Sam adds, soft.   
"We are  _so_  in over our heads." Louis shakes his head.   
"But we've got to do it. I can't live as some One Direction reject for the rest of my life." Dean shakes his head, frowning.   
"What's One Direction?" Sam asks.   
"One Direction doesn't exist?" Harry asks, awed.   
"Not that I know of." Sam states. 

Guess it really _isn't_ One Direction without Harry and Louis.   
"What's our band called then?" Dean asks, sounding dejected.   
"Um...I don't know. I can Google you, though." Sam supplies, reaching for his laptop.

Everyone sits around anxiously and Louis bites his lip to withhold a smile. 

One Direction is nothing without them. The thought makes his surprisingly happy.   
"Cross Fire." Sam says, soft chuckle following it quickly. "Dean Tomlinson and Castiel Styles from Cross Fire--Missing since September eighteenth."

One Direction is a better name. 

It makes Louis really happy. Ecstatic, almost, that they absolutely suck without them.  
"Our name was better," Harry whispers, squeezing Louis' thigh.   
"It was." Louis nods. "Cross Fire sounds like a bad religious band."

Harry grins and laughs, shaking his head.   
"' _Crossing the land of God with my baby._ '" Louis imitates in a voice that's supposed to be Dean. 

Harry laughs again, clapping his hands with a wide grin.  
"Happiest I've seen you two in a while." Sam muses, eyeing them.   
"We aren't, like, together here?" Louis frowns. 

He'd always imagined loving Harry always.   
"No...though I've always suspected." Sam laughs, a chortling sound. 

Louis nods, sort of frowning as he reaches for Harry's hand. He brings it to his mouth and kisses it, watching Dean roll his eyes.   
"Anyway, let's catch this dick before something else happens." Dean stands up and Louis grins at The Killers written across his chest.

Louis wonders if Dean likes them or if he chose the shirt just because.  
"So, where're we doing this?" Harry asks.   
"Yes, I was about to ask the same thing." Cas nods. "We can't do it here. It's unwise. The cleaning staff would have to deal with the mess, as well."   
"I'll try and find a place." Sam says, already typing on his laptop. 

Harry turns his head, staring at the side of Louis' face.   
"The righteous man." He breathes. "That's who you are."  
"What?" Louis smiles, flitting and nervous.   
"You were chosen." Harry smiles, brilliantly white. "By God. Your bloodline...It goes all the way back to Cain and Abel."   
"Oh," Louis says because he isn't sure what else to say. 

Cain? As in the sibling that killed his brother?   
"You were destined for plenty of things, Louis." Harry bites his lip. "As was Sam."   
"Sam?!" Louis asks, aghast. "What's Sam got to do--Oh, yeah. He's my brother." Louis scoffs. "Lucifer's vessel. I remember."  
"Anyways," Sam interrupts. "A few miles from here there's an abandoned farm. Some big fire scorched the land and no one's lived there since."   
"Onward Christian soldiers." Louis says with a grimace. 

-

Dean isn't quite sure this plan is smart, but what other choice do they have? 

Dean can't be stuck in a goddamn band called Cross Fire for the rest of his life! He'd much rather have his life back. 

His car, his brother, his past, his angel.   
"Okay, so I collected the ingredients." Harry says, hands filled with jars. "Cas helped."   
"I told him of the places we needed to visit to collect the items." Cas says, sounding proud.   
"Let's get this show on the road, then, eh?" Dean says, raising his eyebrow. "I've set up the Enochian symbols and shit."   
"Unlike you dweebs, I collected something to protect ourselves." Louis grins, proudly handing out the stakes and two angel blades from the lining of his jacket. "But they lack blood of victims."

Louis really could be a nicer, less damaged version of Dean.  
"Stealing now, Lou?" Dean mocks with an impassive smirk. "How very Dean of you."

The only thing left was...  
"Whose blood can we use?" Dean asks. "The son of a bitch hasn't killed anyone yet."   
"We can use yours." Sam says. "No, just think about it. All four of you have been screwed with, right? And doesn't that make you victims?" 

Dean doesn't see how it could hurt. 

So Dean slices his arm, cringing and hissing faintly, and lets the blood drip onto the stake. Everyone with stakes follows, crimson red staining the burned ground.

They all draw their weapons, swords and stakes alike, as Harry prepares the summoning spell. He stands, kissing the side of Louis' head, before he sighs.   
"Ready?" He asks, matches in hand.   
"As I'll ever be." Dean mutters, standing defensively with his stake drawn. 

Louis nods at Harry, silver sword gleaming in his hands, and Harry drops the match onto the plate.

It roars up in an explosion of white, gold, blue and it burns the back of Dean's eyes. 

He's never seen one so brilliantly beautiful. 

The sparks burn out as fast as they burn and the scorched farmhouse shutters. Dean stands next to Cas, desperately fearful that something might happen to him. 

He'd die for Cas, that much he's sure. 

He can sense the thing before he sees it, like a monstrous sixth sense and he turns, watching the thing lean against the barn wall. 

He looks like a wealthy man. Long pea-coat with an expensive suit. How strange.  
"Hiya, kiddos." The thing grins, pure mischief. "How's it going?"   
"You son of a bitch." Louis growls and Dean's almost impressed. 

They're practically the same person, minus Dean's alcoholism and Louis' nicotine addiction.   
"Hey," the thing frowns, "there's no need to be rude."   
"You took us out of our lives." Louis says, gruff. "Ripped apart everything we knew and stuffed us into the life of hunters and angels and monsters. How is there no need to be  _rude_?" 

Dean likes this kid. He really, really does.   
"Alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist." The monster snickers. "I'm Matteas, by the way." 

Matteas the monster. 

Fitting.   
"Put us back." Harry says, hands tight around the stake.   
"Why would I do that? I'm having so much fun watching you scramble to pick up the pieces!" Matteas laughs, a scary, rumbling sound. 

It shakes the farmhouse's walls with its reverberation. 

Matteas claps his hands and Sam disappears, an empty space where he once stood.   
"Where's my brother, you bastard?" Dean snaps.   
"Oh, who knows anymore?" Matteas laughs. "You'll get him back...if you don't die first." 

Dean shuffles on his feet, pissed off and desperate as he speaks.  
"Well," Dean says, stepping forward. 

He probably looks the opposite of threatening with his The Killers shirt and Vans, but he really doesn't care. 

He just smiles languidly, eyebrows raised.   
"I love foreplay just as much as the next guy, but this is taking just a  _bit_  too long. Let's get this show on the road, shall we?" He smiles pleasantly. 

Matteas rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue.   
"I wish this could've gone differently." He says, mock frowning. "I'm going to enjoy slaughtering you. I think I'll kill Cas first. Newly human, he'll be the easiest to wound." Matteas teases, stalking across the barn. 

Dean steps in front of Cas, stance screaming protective. 

He won't let Matteas lay one grimy finger on Castiel.   
"Harry," Louis says, stance a replication of Dean's, "take Cas and get the hell out of here."   
"What?" Harry snaps. "No! I'm not leaving you."   
"Harry," Dean says, fumbling to reach for Cas' hand. 

It's a surprisingly familiar gesture. Dean doesn't feel odd about it at all.  
"Go. Take Cas." Dean squeezes Cas' hand, sparing him a quick glance. "Now."   
"Okay." Harry says with worry and without haste. 

And then they're both gone, leaving Louis and Dean with empty hands.   
"Now that we've gotten rid of the angel assholes," Matteas grins, sinister. "Ready to die?" 

Matteas makes the first move. He claps his hand and a sword appears, gleaming dark and cynical. He leaps forward, jabbing at Dean's side. 

Dean jumps out of the way, swinging his stake around to smash it into Matteas' nose. He groans, blood dripping, but doesn't waver in his next attack. 

Louis comes up behind him, kicking out his legs. He stumbles forward, hands flying out to hold himself up as his sword skitters away.   
"Oh," Matteus stammers, blood on his mouth, "that's how you wanna play, eh?" 

He stands up and his sword reappears in his hands with a clap. He jabs the butt of his sword into Louis' head, sending him skittering across the barn with the force. 

Dean begins to yell his name to make sure he's alright, but before he can, Matteus is on him, slashing out, cutting a hole in Dean's shirt and side. 

He groans, feeling the blood thick and sticky on his side.   
"That all you got?" Dean mocks, twirling the stake in his hands. 

Matteas strikes out again, bashing Dean's head with his sword. Dean falls, staggers, and then his head's on the ground. Matteas uses his hands to grind Dean's head into the ground, smashing his face on the hay-covered concrete.

Dean's vision goes spotty, half-lidded. He's lost his stake, so, weaponless, he reaches back and digs his nails into Matteas' hands. 

He doesn't let go until Matteas does, and then he stands. He's a few inches taller than the monster, but it doesn't help any. 

Dean's scrawny without the extra seven years of muscle. 

Matteas laughs, a biting and bitter sound, before jabbing his sword into the soft flesh of Dean's upper arm. 

He cries out, reaching to touch it and his fingers come away red and wet. Matteas drops his sword and punches Dean over and over until he can't stand. Punches until Dean's face in a bloody, mashed up mess. Punches until Dean can see nothing but the skin of Matteas' knuckles. 

Dean makes one last bloody attempt, reaching his hands up to grasp the lapels of Matteas' coat.   
"Got you, asshat." He says, nearly grinning.   
"What are you talking abou-- _Jesus Christ_!" Matteas' grip falters and he falls to the floor, tugging Dean with him. 

Poking out of his chest is the tip of a wooden stake, saturated with his blood. Louis stands behind him, hands bloodied, face stunned and red.   
"Get...Cas." Dean says, his last thought before his mind goes dark. 

-

Somehow, Louis knows how to call Harry.   
"Dear Harold, I pray to you on this day where I became a murderer of evil to get your ass here and clean Dean Winchester up. So hurry up. He looks like utter shit." 

A few seconds later Harry appears, lugging Cas with him.   
"Oh, Dean." Cas says, sounding more human than Louis had ever heard. "Fix him, please."   
"Okay." Harry says, stalking over to him. "How?"   
"You just focus on healing him." Cas says. "Touch his forehead." 

Louis watches as his beautiful Harry heals a fucked up Dean Winchester in seconds. 

Cas pets his hair, delicately smooth as Dean wakes up.   
"Christ." He murmurs. "What happened?"   
"He's dead." Louis says, firm. 

He's never felt so horrible. 

Even though Matteas was a monster, Louis still aches inside at the thought that he killed someone. Something.   
"Oh," Dean sits up. "I remember. Good job, kid."   
" _Kid?"_ Louis scoffs, playful. "I'm older than you are, you bastard." 

Dean begins a response, but stops, awed.

The room flashes white and gold as Louis feels his skin burn, ache. He tries to scream, but no noise comes out. He's trapped in between colours, sounds, smells. 

Has he died?

The light fades and the pain goes with it. He opens his eyes, surprised to see that he's in the clothes Dean had been wearing, slashed and blood-soaked. 

He looks over at everyone, elated to see that everyone's back in their retrospective bodies. 

He runs to crush Harry in a tight hug, glad to see Harry back in his skin tight black jeans. He kisses Harry on the nose, nearly sobbing in relief.   
"I love you so much, H." He says. "I'm so glad you're okay."   
"I love you too, Louis." Harry smiles, embracing him hard. 

They turn to look at Cas and Dean who smile at each other, nothing but fond.   
"Glad you've got your angel mojo back." Dean says, smirking. "Missed it...and you."   
"Thank you, Dean." Cas says. "I missed it...and you...as well."  
"Just kiss already!" Sam shouts, appearing in the place he'd stood before Matteas had banished him. 

Dean gapes at him, open mouthed.   
"Go on." Louis teases. "You know you want to."   
"You know what?" Dean says, a grin curling his lip. "I think I might just." 

He turns to Cas and grabs him, pulling him close and kissing him hard on the lips. 

Now, Louis thinks, he's seen it all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Leave some comments and kudos? Maybe? I appreciate every single one. xx


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